


Power of Attraction

by bookandpipe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Greg Lestrade - Freeform, I love John, John is the best, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mike Stamford - Freeform, Molly Hooper - Freeform, School Life, Teenlock, balletlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 21:33:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4580889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookandpipe/pseuds/bookandpipe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John - Sherlock...in a park. They see each other and are drawn to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. My first Go at a Johnlock story. No native speaker, not beta'd, not britpicked. I loved the idea of them coming together like magnets. there is just nothing either of them can do. Force of nature.  
> I do have some ideas how they'll meet again and want to write them down. :-)

John Watson was out of shape. He used to run 15 miles on a semi daily basis without much effort, but now he was out of breath and starting to have a stitch. He stopped at a park bench and put his right foot up. Maybe a little bit of stretching would help. Confident that no one was around to see or hear him (he liked to run in the early hours) he swore: "Buggering fuck, Watson, you sound like an old man. All the panting!" He started to massage his left calf and looked up at the slightly cloudy sky. He considered sitting down but decided against it. He would never get up again. He put down his right and got his left foot up to repeat the massaging when he caught a movement in the corners of his right eye. He turned his head around. Next to the benches, close in front of the trees were a few scattered rocks. On it lay a boy on his back, his upper body supported by his elbows. Between his fingers of his right hand dangled a lit cigarette. He was watching him, John realized. He turned slightly red and turned his head back, away from that boy.

Great. What a great sight he must be: small, panting, swearing guy, incredibly unfit.

Whereas the boy on the stones was tall, slim and…John tried to loook without really turning his head…a bit smug. He was clearl scrutinizing John. John got his foot down, jumped a few times up and down and was about to start running again. When he turned he saw that the boy had set up. They both looked at each other. John saw that the boy was likely the same age as him. There was a mob of unkempt hair on his head, some strains had fallen over his eyes what gave him a dashing, kind of adventurous look. And those eyes. Unusually shaped, like almonds and very bright in color and…staring at him! John blushed again.

Look away, Watson, he scolded himself.

He couldn’t. They were both gazing at each other. What a picture this must be: Two teenagers, one short, sandy-haired in sports gear, one tall, lanky dark-haired in holey black jeans and a white t-shirt, looking each other down, not saying a word. Then the tall boy moved. He flung away his cigarette. Down the rocks he came towards John. Long elegant steps. Like a leopard.

One step. Two. Three.

John was frozen to the spot. Only one thought crossed his mind: Oh my god. Oh My God! OH MY GOD!!!

Then he was standing in front of John, looking into his eyes, a little smile on his face. Only a second later there were hands on John’s shoulders and lips on John’s lips. It was just a mere peck but John was so shocked, he raised a hand to his lips, touching them, trying to find traces of that kiss. The other boys’ smile widened, he tilted his head, searching for John’s eyes as if asking for permission to proceed. John looked up at him and, clearly being possessed by an unknown supernatural force, he cupped the dark-haired boys cheek and caressed it.

What was he doing?

He’d went out for a run in the park and now HERE he was, about to kiss a complete stranger! Never in his 16 years has he even dreamt of a situation like this. This wasn’t him. He was not one who was easily and fast making out with people. Hell, he only ever kissed twice, really. And one time he was only eleven on a dare and he’d hated it. The other time, with Sarah, a couple of weeks ago was fine. No, it had been great. Why had they not repeated it?

“Focus, Watson!,” John thought. And yes, here he was.

The follow-up kiss. Christ, that felt amazing. John could taste the cigarette and to his wonder, wasn’t repulsed by it.  
When had his other hand decided to wind up in that guys hair? God, it felt soft. He was still only at the receiving end of that kiss or rather: of the constant stream of kisses the tall boy gave him. When John started to reciprocate immediately the kissing grew more frantically.

They were absolutely, really, unmistakably, heatedly kissing. And fucking hell did it feel good!

John sank into those lips that tried to touch each and every corner of his own. Sure, it was clumsy and awkward, but mostly John felt bliss. He was taken aback by the sheer surreality of it all that he forgot everything around him. Around them. He could stay like this forever. Standing in front of a boy he knew nothing about: age, name, origin. Blimey, would they even speak the same language? Other than the language of love? John sniggered at this, laughing about his own ridiculous thought.  
That broke the kiss.  
John was met by confuses grey-greenish-blue eyes. The owner of those eyes slowly took down the hands from John’s shoulders. John’s hand stayed exactly where they were: wound around the other boys head, runung through hair and along neck.  
“It’s just…”, John started. He wanted to make clear that he was laughing about the situation not about the boy or their kissing technique.  
The dark-haired teen just put his index finger on John’s lips before he bent down to give him another very soft kiss. Then he turned and went away with large steps.  
“Wait…!!”, John called. But the boy didn’t so much as turn around.


	2. Chapter 2

I kissed a boy and I liked it...damn that song buzzed in his head.

“Don’t you like it son?” his mother asked. John didn’t listen. He was back in the park. Back kissing the soft lips of a stranger. How ridiculous! How crazy. Had that even happened? The hands on his shoulders, the finger on his lips. Shhhhh...

“John?”

“Huh?”

“I asked if you don’t want to eat?” What were you thinking of, you were miles away?”

“Nothing. Not hungry.”

He’s been acting like a zombie for four days now, since “the event”. He just couldn’t get his head around what happened. He was struggling with the impulse of going to the park again, looking for that dude who seemed to have no problem to push John’s life into mayhem. He wasn’t paying attention at school, he missed his rugby practice and his coach gave him a good telling-off. He wasn’t eating. He just...drifted through the days. Mind always wandering through a certain park searching for a dark-haired teen with almond-shaped eyes. John realized he had a serious crush and argued with himself: How can I be smitten with someone I do not even know? Whom I haven’t spoken a word with? How can I just be here...like swooning...like a stupid Austen heroine or something? Crikey, what am I turning into? This needs to stop. I won’t see him again anyway. Or will I?

His feet acted on their own accord. As did his hands. Combined they got him off the table, mumbling a silly excuse, got him into his running clothes, out of the door and in the direction of Regent’s Park. His heart hammered like crazy the closer he got. He wondered if people could see it nervously beating like you see it in a cartoon. The heart bursting through your shirt and you’d have to push it back into your body.

The closer he came to the spot where “it” happened, the slower he got. He was afraid the other one might not be there. Terrified if he was. He got to the bench and the rocks. There was an elderly couple walking by, otherwise the place was empty. Disappointment crept through John’s whole organism. What was he thinking? What would be the odds to meet that guy again? There were over 7 million people living in this city and a gazillion tourists every day. He was about to get home when he heard the rustling of leaves and twigs. Dividing the leaves-curtain of one of the weeping willows was – him! John’s kissing stranger appeared and smiled at him. The smile said “Finally, I’ve been waiting here forever!” Well, that was how John interpreted it.

“Uhm. Hi.”, he started.

But the boy put a finger over his mouth, telling John to be silent. Then he waved John nearer before he disappeared behind the leaves again, clearly expecting John to follow him. Like a moth into a flame John did.

The boy leant against the trunk, his hands behind his head. Apparently he had yet again lit another cigarette. It dangled between his fingers, very close to his left temple. His posture was so clearly an act to appear cool, John almost laughed. But actually he liked that the other one was putting on a bit of a show to...impress him?

“Uh, you know that’s careless. The smoking I mean...uh...you shouldn’t do it anyway. Least of all in the woods...I’ve seen pictures of a smoker’s leg in biology class lately, it ain’t pretty”, John stammered.

The taller boy just smirked, took his arms down and took a long smoke before he flipped the butt away. He smiled and beckoned him over. This time to come closer. When they stood opposite each other so close they breathed the same air, there was only a very short moment of hesitation before they were kissing again. The taller one flung his arms around John’s middle. John mirrored his action. They stood there, entwined and kissing very softly. “Finally” John sighed into the kiss and it sounded like “fnly”. When he felt the other boy’s tongue seeking way into his mouth, he drew back. Only when he was pulled back and even closer to the other one did John give in and opened his lips to welcome his kissing companion fully. It felt strange but – oh- so wonderful. They kissed and kissed. Heads tilted this way and that way. John felt hands kneading his buttocks. OMG!!!

Then the lips on his mouth were gone. As were the hands on his bum. Instead they were now fumbling with his fly. What?

The dark-haired was kneeling in front of him, unzipping him and putting his lips against his pants. Feather light kisses on his cock.

“Whoa! Wait! What! How? Hnng!”, John gasped. God, everything with this guy happened so fast.

The other one’s mouth took the tip of John’s still clothed cock in his mouth. Then the dampened piece of fabric got pulled down and John’s hardening cock sprang free. When he looked down and saw his penis vanish inside the boys’ mouth, he slumped forward and put his hands against the tree for support. Fuck, that was the sexiest, filthiest thing he’d ever seen. With one hand the boy played with his foreskin. Up and down. Up and down. The other one was back on John’s arse. Every time his cock left the boys’ mouth there was the most obscene sound.

“This...this is...aah....compl...this...crazy...OH GOD!!””

His penis was stroked and sucked and John’s mind went completely blank. His hips bucked forward. Wanting more. More pleasure.

“This...I...God...I’m...I’m...oh...oooooh...hngaaah.”

That was all the warning John could give. Seconds later he came. The first pulses landed in the taller boys’ mouth before he drew back and turned sideways. Still a bit of come landed on his shoulders before it dropped on the grass. While John came down from his orgasm the other one sat down in front of him and spat out John’s release. John put up his pants and trousers and zipped himself up again. Then he sat down in front of this wild boy.

“So sorry. About that.”

He pointed vaguely at the signs of his body fluids.

His kissing stranger looked at him. His lips deep red and his cheeks flushed. A cum stain on his shoulder. He looked utterly debauched. John felt equally ashamed and proud. They both got up.

“Do you want me to...uh...I never...I would, if you like...”

The skinny teen just shook his head, lit a cigarette and kissed John’s left ear.

“Next time”, he hissed into it. And then he went away.

“Wait! When is ‘next time’? Give me your name? Your number!”

But with his long strides, the stranger was soon gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "With the light of its phone he could make out the name: “Onegin – Sherlock Holmes”. Sherlock Holmes…Sherlock…"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took a a while to update...:-)
> 
> Onegin is a wonderful ballet. Read about it here: http://www.roh.org.uk/productions/onegin-by-john-cranko
> 
> Not beta'd or britpicked or anything...

„I’d tell ya, if we’d watch Macbeth in the cinema instead of struggling with Shakey’s oh so brilliant words, my grades would skyrocket!“

“Mhm”, John didn’t really listen to Mike’s words.

“That Cotillard bird…she’s hot man!”

“Yeah”, John nodded absently.

“She’s French. All the French ladies are nicer than our pale hags…It’s the law!”

When John didn’t answer Mike looked over to his mate who was scribbling something. “What’s this? You drawing birds or something? I was talking about some other kind of birds, man. The ones with some fine knockers.”

He bopped John’s side. John wasn’t drawing birds. His drawings were the outlines of some specific boy’s upper lips. _That damned Cupid ’s bow_.

The bell rang. Class was over. They packed their stuff and got out. They met their friends outside of school. Greg was smoking and wrapping an arm around Molly who beamed at everyone she saw. She was so in love, it was ridiculous.

“So, are we actually going to that theatre thing or what?”, Greg asked.

“Well we have to”, Molly said.

“Nah, we could skip it. There are soooo many things better we could do, right?”

Molly blushed and giggled a bit. Mike rolled his eyes: “I was actually thinking about breaking my foot or something. Maybe jump in front of a car. Hey, Anderson – you’re an awful enough driver. Fancy knocking me down in a jiffy?”

“You know I’d do anything for you man!” came the reply.

“No honestly, I really don’t wanna go. See some fags in tights running across the stage, ramming their sock stuffed panties in our faces. No thank you.”, Greg complained.

“What’s the point of Music classes anyway?”, Mike asked. “John can you tell me? Since you’re the one with the good grades here.”

“Yeah and I need those to compensate my other numerous failings so I’ll definitely go. “, John said.

“What’s the name of the shit again?” Greg asked.

“Onegin”, Molly said. “Some Russian thing, terribly depressing I bet.”

They arranged to meet up at 7pm.

Ballet did not interest John. So his little protest was not to get dressed up for a night at the ballet. They met with their music teacher in the theatres entrance hall. He gave a short lecture about the play and the dance company: “their awfully good. About your age. See, what you can achieve if you actually put a bit of effort in what you do!” He gave them all a stern look. But his students only yawned or were making mock pirouettes as an answer.

When they set down, Greg got himself into sleeping position immediately. He crawled up into the seat and started a false snore. His friends laughed, but his teacher told him off. Soon the curtain rose and…John almost fell of his chair. It was him! His…his…it was his stranger. And oh fucking hell was he ever so graceful. He wore black tights and a black t-shirt. He looked…cool. He played an arrogant aristocrat and John could not take his eyes of him. He was mesmerized. His long legs seemed to fly easily across the stage. He stood on his toes. He bent his body into the most incredible poses. He was magnificent. The way he expressed Onegins feelings made John tremble. He wished his class was gone. He wished everyone gone and just to be here. Alone in the audience with that boy. WAIT! There’s a programme. There was his name? He’d finally have a name. It was too dark to read, but John had to know. Now. He took out his smartphone and put it on. With the light of its phone he could make out the name: “Onegin – Sherlock Holmes”. Sherlock Holmes…Sherlock…

”Watson!!”, hissed his teacher. Put that thing away. Right now!” His mates giggled and Greg gave him the thumbs up.

During the break almost everybody was making fun of the dancers and the boring music, but John was silent. He desperately wanted to go back and watch Sherlock.

When the ballet was over after 2,5 hours, Greg said: “Well, we survived it. Let’s be proud about that. Grab something to eat, yeah?”

Molly, Mike and Anderson agreed, but John couldn’t leave this place. Not without meeting with Sherlock.

“I think I am exhausted”, John said, “almost 3 hours in the dark watching that stuff and listening to that music ( _which I absolutely loved every second of_ )…I’m knackered.”

When his mates remained unsuccessful to convince him to join them they left. John left too. He was trying to find a way to the dressing rooms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Woah, that took me some time to update. Oops. :-) Still not a beta'd fic, still the writer hasn't any clue about anything ballet...
> 
> This is the print on Sherlocks T-shirt: http://bit.ly/1Wqof6p :-)

John’s heart seemed ready to burst.

He walked slowly towards the usher, leaning against a counter, looking at his phone. 

“Sorry?” John said.

The usher looked up. “I’m here for my interview with the cast…eerr…for my school newspaper?”

It was the only lie that came to him. “Are you now”, the usher said in a stilted way.

“I haven’t heard anything about it.”

“Oh no. I can’t fail again. They will kick me out of the writing team and I’m going to be so fucked!” 

John put on his most desperate face. “Sorry” he added.

“Hang on – ey..Jen! Jen! Do you know about som interview with the Onegin lot today? For a school paper?”

“Nah” came a voice from the back. “What paper?” 

“What’s the name of your paper again?”

“The Dunraven Rapport” John said wondering where that came from.

“Wait here” the tall guy told John and went over to speak with some woman. Jen apparently. After a couple of minutes John was winked over. 

"Here, follow Jen. She’ll bring you to the dressing rooms. Good luck, mate. Seems like that Ballet guy has one of his moods.” 

John swallowed.

“Funny, nobody told me anything about an interview. Don't know if they're still here or not. You’re from some kind of dance or art school?”, Jen, a friendly looking petit blonde asked him. 

“No. Just…er…some…just regular school, really…” Great Watson. How well-spoken you are.

“Oh. But you’re interested in the ballet or is your article some kind of punishment?” she wondered and winked at John while she held a door open for him to follow. 

“Yeah, kinda…” John tried to laugh, but it sounded weak. 

Oh god, I’m going to meet him. I will talk to him. Finally. But…oooh. Shit, shit, shit – I have to ask him questions. Fuck. And the others, too. Shit. He turned around to see if it was too late to just run. He could scarper, couldn’t he? While thinking of running away he put on foot in front of the other forwards to his doom. They walked along a dimly lit corridor with a lot of framed photographs on the walls. All showed scenes from former performances. Then they stopped and Jen knocked on a door. “Wait here” she told John. John felt sick to his stomach. This was so fucked up. Everything about it. From the park, their meetings, this ridiculous fantastic dancing and now his stunt. He leaned with his back against the wall and took a deep breath. Everything’s fine, Watson. You just took matters in your own hands. So you’re in control here. 

The door opened and John was amazed that he didn’t throw up out of pure anxiety.

“You can wait here, they will meet you here in a few minutes”, Jen said smiling and guiding him into a small room, that didn’t contain more than a small, a sofa and 5 chairs.

“Good luck”, Jen said, padded John’s shoulder and left. 

John set down on the sofa, rested his arms on his knees and buried his face in his hands. “Oh god, oh god, oh god” he muttered, rocking back and forth. When he looked up and around he saw an open door on the other end of the room and he could hear some rumbling. And then someone in a deep baritone voice complaining: “No, Irene. It was shit! Never once have I seen a worse attitude derrière.” A female voice answered: “It wasn’t that bad.” That remark was greeted with a huffing sound. Then there were footsteps. They were coming nearer to John’s room and a few seconds later there was a tall figure standing in the doorframe. He had a towel over his head which covered his face. He was dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a T-Shirt with a cover of Uriah Heeps “live in Europe 1979” on it. He was rubbing his hair and John could hear his muffled voice “Anyway, I didn’t understand a word Jen said. Why do we have to be here now?” Then he took the towel of and looked directly at John. He stood stock still and looked absolutely shocked.

They just stared at each other for what felt like ages. 

Then Sherlock found his composure and his face went cold.

“My respect. How’d you do it?” he asked.

“Do what?” John answered puzzled.

“Find me. Never took you for a stalker. Always something…Well then, you…” he began when Irene entered the room, interrupting them . She was a tall beautiful brunett, her hair in a bun, wearing black tight jeans an a big black shirt that exposed one of her delicate shoulders.

“So, who are you? Why do we have to sit here after an exhausting performance? What school nonsense is that and why are you blushing?” She demanded.

“I’m not blushing!!” John protested.

Irene looked from John to Sherlock who stood behind her and looked thunderous.

“So let’s get this over with” she stated and went to stand besides Sherlock, building a front against John. “What you wanna know?” 

“Yes, er…well…” John stuttered. “Can you tell me how you came to dancing?” he asked. 

“Who?” Irene demanded.

“Either of you”, John said. 

“Thank god, he doesn’t ask the most inane questions” Sherlock sighed. 

Irene started to tell him about her career progression when she suddenly stopped. “You aren’t wriing anything down, honeybunch!”

“Oh” John hastily grabbed his phone and started to record their interview. “Sorry, go on.”

While Irene spoke John could feel Sherlocks’s intense gaze on him. This has been a tremendous mistake. He wasn’t pleased to see him. He appeared to be totally pissed about it. “…and you don’t seem to be interested in my answers at all!” he could hear Irene saying. 

“Seriously, what bullshit is this? Sherlock do you know that clown?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry this is my first interview and I do not know a thing about dancing. I…I just…came here with my class and I…I really loved it. The way you expressed all your emotions through your movements, with your body…That was…electrifying. I didn’t know the story of…wow, I can’t remember the name, forgive me, but you made it all clear for me. Even the tiniest movements of your fingers held some deeper meaning…it was…brilliant! So I’m a bit at a loss for words right now.” John rambled. Sherlock and Irene looked at John after his outburst. 

“Alright.” It was again Irene that spoke.

Sherlock had his arms crossed above his chest and was still tight lipped but somehow his face looked a bit softer.

“Go on, then” Irene added. John asked a few more questions. All of them were answered just by Irene.

“And what do you do for your health? Can you hold up your smoking habit?”

“What are you talking about? I don’t smoke. We don’t smoke. You can either smoke or dance. Not both.”

John looked at Sherlock. Irene followed his gaze.

“He doesn’t smoke. Do you, Sherlock?”

“Of course not” came the short reply. 

“Told you.” She looked at her watch. “Is there anything more? Otherwise I need to go. Sherlock, I’m sure your brothers car is here by now.” She came over to the sofa and politely shook John’s hand. “Good luck with that. I don’t know what you make of it, but: Good luck.” 

And with that she was gone.

John still sat on the sofa and looked up at Sherlock. They were having another staring duel.

Then Sherlock closed the door behind him. 

“So.” He said. “What now?”

John didn’t know what to reply. 

“Come here”, Sherlock hissed. 

John stayed where he was. He couldn’t move his legs. He felt immobilized. 

Sherlock bent his head to one side. “Ok then.” 

He walked over. Sat down next to John and a second later his mouth was on John’s neck. 

“That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” he whispered. God, it felt good. And Sherlock’s hair smelled of shampoo. It was intoxicating. And now on of Sherlock’s hands came up and roamed over his chest. “I could almost feel your want while your were conducting what is to be called the most ridiculous interview in history with Irene. But all you really thought of was my mouth on you. Am I right? You just can’t get enough. You want me to make you feel good again. You tried to find me, still amazed that you succeeded I must add, to fulfill your sexual needs once again.” Sherlock breathed the words over John’s throat and neck and his lips were now resting on his collarbone. “Maybe you came for more even??”

John felt the overwhelming need to gulp. He felt that Sherlock was pressing him down onto the sofa. 

“No!” 

John mustered all of his strength to combine these two letters into a word and say it out loud. He pressed against Sherlock’s hand and sat up.

“No, that’s not why I am here.” 

Sherlock looked perplex. “Oh really? Why then?” 

“I..I...You…You’re always in my head since the first day in the park…and then…and now …you just were there on stage…and you looked so otherworldly…so extremely beautiful…you are so magnificent…and I couldn’t just….I needed to…I want to…” John turned his head away from Sherlock. 

The door opened and Jen looked inside. “Sherlock, your brother sends me. He said, he’s waiting for 10 Minutes now, which is nine and half minutes more, than he wanted to and I need to bring you to him, asap.” When no reaction came, she added: “Sherlock, d’you hear me?" 

Sherlock got up and accompanied Jen out of the door. When he passed her, she could hear him muttering “ _…beautiful…_ ”. 

John sat there for a moment. Then he took his phone and listened to the recording. 

_“all you really thought of was my mouth on you. Am I right? You just can’t get enough. You want me to make you feel good again”_

Oh my god. That voice. Those words. They sent a shiver down his spine. He got up and tried to find his way out of the theatre. All he wanted was to go home and erase 99% of this day out of his head.

When he came back to the foyer there was the usher again. He smiled at John this time and gave him a small piece of paper. 

“I need to give you this. From that dancer dude. I just can’t memorize his name.” 

“Sherlock.”

“Yup, that’s the one.” 

John took the folded paper and opened it. 

  


_“Next time I find you. SH”_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter...Poor John is been bullied, but he's a cool guy and can hold his own

John felt giddy with excitement. They’re gonna meet again. He will find him. He wants to find him. Sherlock found him interesting. John felt proud of himself. Yes, proud for making a complete fool of himself, but there seemed to be a reward for that on the horizon. He went home, had a lovely dinner with his family, went to his room, looked up the theatre program, booked a ticket to see Sherlock on stage again and then went to bed and wanked like a lunatic while listening to the recording on his phone.

Next day at school, John was greeted by his friends.

“John, old brewery horse, you should’ve come along yesterday. Sarah was there. And: she was asking for you. You’re still in there, man!” Mike said, slapping John on the shoulder. “You doing it just right – let them come to you. Should try that. Make myself interesting.”

“You couldn’t make yourself interesting even if you were wearing a purple lion skull on top of your head or having arms instead of your legs”, came Greg’s voice, before he jumped on Mikes back and nudged him into his sides. “So Johnny – Sarah…what’s up there?”

John blushed. “Nothing. Haven’t seen here in a while…” John shrank inside.

“And that’s driving her mad. Everyone wants her. And she knows it. And here you go and just don’t give a damn. But you do, right? Give a damn?” Mike said.

“I rather think he gives a fuck…” Greg smirked. "Or is about to give her a fine one!"

“You’re all hilarious. Can we change the subject, please?” John asked as they headed towards the class room. He slammed his bag on the table, sat down and buried his head in his bag. Mike sat down next to him.

“Mike, you owe me a fiver for yesterday.” Greg yelled across the room.

“Only have twenty. Can you change?” Mike answered.

“Nah, John can you change twenty?” Greg asked.

John groaned, looked into his bag to find his wallet. He put it out, opened it and…Mike grabbed it.

“John’s rich folks!! Look it’s not five, not, ten, not twenty it’s fifty. Yup, it’s a…no wait...it’s TWO fifty pound notes. Jesus, you’re well off. You’re gonna buy this shithole of a school, mate?”

Mike tucked a the two fifty pound notes.

“Wait, there’s more…what the fuck?” John felt panic rising.

“Give it back, Mike, c’mon.”

“It’s a ticket. For the ballet. You’re keeping the ticket for that stinking dance thing? Wait, it’s for Friday…You’re going again!” Mike exclaimed.

John could hear his classmates beginning to laugh.

Matt, whom John never liked, sneered: You a pooftah now, Watson?”

John’s head was so read, it looked ready to burst. He grabbed his wallet and pushed it back deep inside his bag. “You’re all wankers. So I liked it. The ballet. The dancers are fit as athletes. Would do you good Matt, to put on those tights and bring that flabby body of yours in shape!”

“Oi!” Matt had stood up and was about to go over to John to smack him in the face when their teacher entered the room.

John’s anger and embarrassment remained. Halfway through class a piece of paper find its way to him. John opened it. It showed a not very accurate drawing of a dancing penis. Written beneath in scrawly handwriting: “Like what you see pansy?”

John crumpled it up and tossed it away. The bell rang and simultaneously his mobile. He looked down at it:

“Got you! SH”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again. Not beta, so forgive me.
> 
> 16 Horsepower was a good band I like, so I put them here. :-)  
> Read about them: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/16_Horsepower

John darted out of the class room and headed for the toilets. He locked himself up inside a cubicle, sat on the closed toilet seat and stared at his phone. Another message appeared.

“That was way too easy, Mr. Pulitzer. SH”

John smiled.

“So full of yourself, are you? Still: signing your texts with SH – stupid hog…” John replied, smirking to himself.

“Funny, but that I knew already. Come out and play, pansy. SH (searing hot)”.

Pansy? How could he refer to Matt’s dumbshit piece of paper? 

“What are you waiting for? SH”

John stared at his phone. Was he here? At his school? Didn’t he have to attend classes himself? Two insufferable hours of economics were waiting for him. Well, he could do without…John got up and out of the lavatory. His feet dragged him along the corridor, all the way toward the entrance. He barely registered the other students around him on their way to their classrooms. He was like a moth flying into a flame. He exited the building and sure enough there only a few meters away that the one and only Sherlock Holmes on the stonewall that separated the school from a busy road. He smoked and looked into the distance, seemingly not noticing John approaching. 

“Well, that took you some time”, he said without looking at John. He took a ridiculously long drag of his cigarette then threw it away carelessly.

“What are you doing here?” John asked. He couldn’t help himself and grinned like a looney. He felt just so happy to see Sherlock. To have him here waiting for him. Picking him…up?

“Waiting for you, obviously.” Sherlock said while he got up slowly. He stretched himself and yawned, arms yanked high above his head, lifting up his T-Shirt revealing his belly button. John forced his eyes up to notice yet another band T-Shirt. 16 Horsepower this time. Was it a band? John wasn’t sure. Looked like it.

“Let’s go.”

“What? Where?” John asked. Why was every single one of their meetings such a whirlwind? A maelstrom. 

“You’ll see”, Sherlock said and took John’s hand to get him going. “Come along.” 

Sherlock was pushing him towards a black cab that was obliviously waiting for Sherlock. For them. John felt like his hand was burning. Sherlock had taken him by the hand. And boy his hand felt burning. Searing hot…John sniggered. Sherlock let go of John’s hand and got into the taxi, followed by John who sat as far away from Sherlock as possible. They were silent for quite some time. John felt so awkward. As they drove away from school, he looked out of the window and realized he couldn’t swallow properly. What was that? He had the undying urge to swallow but felt unable to do so without making embarrassing loud noises. He felt Sherlock gaze.

“You have questions” he said.

John turned his head (his tomato-red head) and said plainly: “Why yes.”

“So?”

“Why are you here? Why are we in a taxi? Where are we going? Why aren’t you at school? Who are you anyway?” John blurted out.

Sherlocked smiled. 

“Good. Questions are good. Well, mostly. I told you I’d find you. And I did. We’re on our way to my place. And school? School’s boring. For the last part – I’m your worst nightmare.” He said the last words without a smile. 

John looked at him, admiration and concern fighting a hopeless battle on his face.

“Just kidding. Although, maybe not. You’ll find out soon enough like everyone else.” 

John wasn’t sure he heard correctly. Sherlock had muffled his reply into his hands while he’d turned his head away to look out of his side of the window. Then he turned around again.

“Anyway, we’re here.”

And with that the car stopped and Sherlock got out. John followed him.

“Don’t we have to pay…” he started but the cab was already darting away. John just stand there and watched it vanish before he looked for Sherlock who was already on his way. He ran after him. They were on the grounds of some equestrian farm, John noticed. There were paddocks, fences, stables. And a few horses out and about. 

At a stable door he caught up with Sherlock. “Sh….Sherl…”John panted. Sherlock put his hands on John’s shoulders and looked down in his face.

“John. We’re going for a ride.”


End file.
